


The Liminal Space After War

by mizdiz



Series: Going Down [5]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, PWP, Season/Series 10, and then several subsequent times, obviously, this is pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: the war with the whisperers has finally been won, and now our heroes are faced with a brand new challenge: making sense of their newfound relationship, and, more importantly, satiating their out of control libidos. can they do it? of course they can. in many different positions, in facts10/post-s10
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Series: Going Down [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1171979
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	The Liminal Space After War

The time that comes after something big is liminal. It's an awkward space that no one knows how to navigate, because how do you go from the height of emotion, to remembering how to simply  _ be _ ?

If you survive a war, you have to learn to live again.

And Daryl keeps surviving wars, but the transition is never any easier, because life is never the same as it was before. There are losses to grapple with, damages to repair, and new scars to carry, both on the body and on the heart. 

The communities are rebuilding, Hilltop will rise again, and Maggie’s back with news on the world outside their little bubble, and people will move on; will adapt to this new normal. And Daryl will too, like he always has, except this time he’s faced with something he’s never dealt with before, and it scares him even as it excites him.

He blames his loose tongue on the heat of battle, when everything was coming to a head, and death, who is always only a few paces behind them, stalking like a cat, seemed like it was finally going to pounce. In the middle of the climax of a war bigger than they’d ever seen, Daryl found himself making confessions to Carol that he’d kept to himself for years and years.

_ In case we don’t make it out of here… _

He’d sounded like a goddamn romance movie trope.

_ I need you to know… _

And he’d told her—actually told her! A decade’s worth of pining, affection, and desire came tumbling out of his mouth in the form of three words:

_ I love you. _

And then he’d rushed into battle, expecting to die.

Only he didn’t die—you’d think  _ one _ of these times he would—and now he’s stuck in the liminal space after war, uncertain of what to do, because he’s very good at loving from afar, but never learned how to do it up close.

Alexandria is quiet tonight, the community still in mourning, adapting to life with this new layer of grief. The kids are asleep. Daryl made sure they got in their pajamas at a reasonable time, and he brushed out Assicker’s hair and listened to her talk about her day, while Carol read RJ a story, and it’s strange, being the sole caregivers of these children—a level of responsibility and domesticity he’s never had, and he doesn’t have any experience to draw from, so every day he’s winging it, hoping he’s not fucking up. But maybe that’s how all parents feel.

Lydia isn’t here tonight. She comes and goes like the wind, and Daryl knows he could never ask her to stay put. She’s like him, like Carol, running from her past, and she needs to learn on her own, like they did, how to sit still.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry, though. But then, that might be a parent thing, too.

Once the house is settled, Daryl knows what he has to do next. A part of him wants to put it off until tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe next week, but the one thing Daryl Dixon’s never been is a coward, and he isn’t about to start being one now.

He does take his time, though, because even if he’s never been a coward, he’s certainly been emotionally repressed, and sure, he’s better at being vulnerable now, but that doesn’t mean it’s  _ fun _ .

He climbs the steps to her room, and has to remind himself that he just fought a war, for Christ’s sakes—he can handle knocking on her fucking door.

So he raises a fist to do so, and just before his hand hits the wood, he hears, “You can just come in, Daryl,” and his arm falls to his side. Sheepishly, he turns the knob and steps inside.

The room is dimly lit by candles she has burning, the shadows of the flames dancing on the walls. Carol is sat on the edge of her bed, her hair braided to one side, and she’s playing with the end of it. Her nightgown stops mid-thigh, and is made of a thin, flowy material that’s held shut by a belt tied in a loop, and Daryl has the fleeting thought that it would only take one good tug to undo it and let the gown fall open, and then he’d be able to see if she’s wearing anything underneath.

He immediately chastises himself. That’s not what he came in here for. There are many words that need to be said before they get to that point— _ if _ they get to that point.

But also, the way the candlelight contours her body is highlighting the definition of her collarbone, and Daryl tries not to think about all the times he’s imagined running his tongue along the length of it, and all the other places he could lick, and—

_ Not. Why. He’s. Here. _

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him and hugging the wall, staying as far away as possible from her, like if he gets too close she’ll be able to hear the things he is not allowed to speak aloud. Like how much he wants to run his hands up her bare legs and thighs, and then he’d—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s kinda late. If I’m botherin’ you I can come back later,” he says, almost tripping on his words.

Never been a coward. Sure.

“You’re not bothering me,” Carol says. “Besides, we probably should talk.”

“Pro’ly should.”  _ But do we have to? _

And then they say nothing.

Daryl has no idea how to start this conversation. What do you say to someone whom you’ve never dated, never slept with, never even kissed, but have confessed your love to? Especially when you never gave them the time to return the sentiment, if they were even going to, because if they didn’t feel the same way you preferred to die ignorant.

“People say and do a lot of impulsive things when they’re under pressure,” Carol says. Daryl chews on a cuticle and nods absently.

“They do,” he agrees.

“Sometimes they say and do things they regret.”

“Sometimes.” Daryl clears his throat, training his eyes at the ceiling. “But I didn’t.”

When Carol doesn’t say anything he forces himself to look at her. Her gaze is both piercing and weary, and he’s not sure what to make of that, so he waits her out.

“You sure it wasn’t just the heat of the moment?” she asks finally.

“‘Course it was the heat of the moment,” Daryl says. “But that don’t mean it wasn’t true.”

A furrow forms along Carol’s brow as she frowns at her lap. She says, “I don’t think you meant it. Not that I think you lied, but emotions were high, and you weren’t thinking about everything I’ve done—how many people I’ve hurt, including you—but once you have time to sit with your thoughts and remember, you might be able to forgive me, but you won’t lo—”

“Stop,” Daryl interrupts her mid-sentence. “Stop it. Shit’s been crazy, and yeah, you been reckless, but that don’t change nothin’. It was a blip on the radar, Carol. We got too much past between us, and too much future ahead of us for my feelings for you to change.”

“Feelings for me,” Carol echoes under her breath.

“Yeah. Feelings. Them things the two of us are real good at pretendin’ we don’t got.” Carol doesn’t offer a response, and so Daryl holds his arms out at his sides, making himself open and vulnerable, and says, “Listen, I dunno if you want me to lie, but I ain’t gonna. Not anymore. I love you. I love you, have for years, and I dunno if you feel the same way, but at least now you know where I stand.” 

Carol fiddles with her necklace, staring off into the middle distance for several beats. Eventually, she blinks back over to Daryl, and asks, “Why me?”

_ Because you saw the worth in me before I saw it in myself. Because you make me laugh even when nothin’ about the world is funny. Because you’re strong, and beautiful, and everythin’ I didn’t know a single person could be all at once. _

The reasons are endless, so he simply says:

“‘Cause there was never gonna be anyone else but you.”

Her shoulders rise and fall hard when she draws in a shuddering breath. She nods slowly, and then gets to her feet. Daryl watches warily as she steps closer and closer until she’s right in his space. They search each other’s eyes for a long moment, and then Carol slides her hands up Daryl’s chest and lets her arms hang loose around his neck, as she raises herself onto her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss on his lips.

Welp. Fuck talking. 

Daryl responds to the kiss instantly, hands flying to her hips and tugging her to him. The relief he feels is so palpable he could cry. It’s like he’s been walking the desert with the sun bearing down on him for ten years, and he finally has a glass of cold water. He deepens the kiss, exploring the inside of her mouth, and memorizing her every taste and texture.

She lets him have control over the kiss, which is as unfamiliar to him as taking the lead in a dance would be. He’s never kissed for the sake of kissing—it’s always just been a means to an end, usually sloppy and drunken in a bar bathroom, or the back of a pickup truck with someone whose face he wouldn’t remember in a week—but he could do this for hours. He feels just as intoxicated as he did with those faceless women from a world that no longer exists, except instead of whiskey shots and cheap beer, it’s her he’s drunk on.

But then her hips buck against his, and her nails dig into the skin at the base of his neck, and suddenly kissing being a means to an end doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.

Reading his mind, she takes him by the wrists, and walks him backwards to the bed clumsily, neither of them willing to break the kiss just yet. The back of her knees hit the side of the mattress, and she lets herself fall back on it. Daryl climbs on top of her, one leg in between hers, and his hands on either side of her shoulders, propping himself up.

His breath hitches when she starts working the buttons of his shirt open, and she breaks the kiss at the sound, searching his face.

“Okay?” she asks, and Daryl snorts. It’s not like she can’t feel how hard he is against her thigh. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything as much as he wants her right now.

That being said, he feels she deserves a disclaimer.

“More than okay,” he says. “But also, I ain’t done this for a long-ass time. There ain’t been no one I felt like lookin’ at twice, ‘cept you. I just thought you should know, in case I’m...just know I’m out of practice, is all.” 

Other women haven’t even made appearances in his fantasies when he’s been alone with his right hand. It’s always,  _ always _ , her. But she was married not all that long ago, and as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he’s not fool enough to believe she’s been celibate all these years.

“That doesn’t matter,” Carol says, cupping his face. “Besides…” She trails off, and Daryl tilts his head at her. 

“Besides what?” he asks. Carol twists her mouth, looking like she’s trying to find the right words.

“I want to do this with you,” she says.

“But?” 

“But...I don’t know. I wanna be close to you, don’t misunderstand, but I also don’t want you to be disappointed if I don’t...I mean, I’ve never...with anyone. Only myself.”

It takes Daryl a second to understand what she’s getting at, and when he does he’s surprised.

“You been married twice,” he says. Carol huffs a laugh.

“I’m aware.” 

“I get why the asshole didn’t do it for you”—he doesn’t want Ed’s name spoken anywhere near this bed—”But not even the King?” 

Carol gives a tight-lipped smile and shrugs. 

“No. He doesn’t know that, though. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But I couldn’t lie to you, even if I wanted to. You’d see through it in a second.”

Daryl considers this.

“Will you at least let me try?” he asks.

“If you want to, but don’t get your hopes up, alright? I don’t want you thinking it’s because you’re no good. It’s me. I just can’t get there with other people.”

Daryl is, of course, immediately determined to prove her wrong, regardless of how long it’s been for him. He’s willing to learn the ropes and put in overtime if he has to.

“‘Kay,” he says softly, leaning down to kiss her again. Sucking on her tongue, he finds the belt to her nightgown and tugs it undone. He pushes the fabric aside and splays his hand on her belly, excited and overwhelmed to find her totally bare, say for a pair of panties underneath.

He starts peppering her jawline with tiny kisses, shucking his shirt off when Carol finishes on the buttons, and then starts his exploration down her body.

First and foremost, he indulgently licks the ridge of her collarbone, breathing in the rosemary scented soap on her freshly washed skin.

Next, he makes his way to her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth, and rolling the other one gently between his index finger and thumb, loving how they become erect under his touch. She lets out a surprised gasp that urges him on. He makes sure he’s worked them taut and sensitive before resuming the trip south.

He nips at the skin of her belly. She’s solid, but still soft, and her strong abdominal muscles jump at every nibble.

She’s wearing a plain pair of blue, cotton panties—although they may as well be lacy lingerie by how much they get him going—and he hooks his fingers around the elastic band. He glances up to check in with her, and finds her looking puzzled.

“Alright?” he asks before taking it any further.

“Yep, mhm,” she says, her voice kind of tight and high-pitched. Daryl regards her suspiciously for a beat, but he finds no resistance from her, and decides to let the bemusement slide in order to refocus his attention on her panties that are still quite rudely in his way. He drags them down the length of her slender legs, and tosses them aside.

He takes his time making his way back up, running his hands all over the bare skin of her calves, and pressing kisses on both of her knees. Before long, her legs are falling open for him like a marionette doll whose strings got cut. He takes the opportunity to suck bruises on her inner thighs, trying to pace himself even as his mouth waters at the smell of her. He’s waited ten years to have her—he can employ enough practice to ensure that she’s as worked up as possible before he dives in.

And worked up she is, he discovers with delight, when he slips his middle finger inside her and it slides in easily. She’s sopping wet, drenching his hand, and the fact that just a few days ago something like this was a pipe dream he intended to take with him to the grave gets him feeling some type of way, and he absolutely  _ has _ to taste her.

Replacing his finger with his mouth, he fucks her with his tongue, dipping it in as deep as he can, and she lets out a strangled cry up at the top of the bed.

She’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, burying his face and letting his facial hair get soaked. He sighs contentedly, allowing himself to be selfish a few moments longer before heading to where he knows she needs him to be.

Daryl might not know any fancy tricks, but he does know her; knows how to read the things she doesn’t say. That twitch in her thigh, for example, means she likes it when she circles her clit with the tip of his tongue. That sharp gasp tells him he’s pressing a bit too hard, and she prefers it feather-light. A low groan in her chest lets him know the addition of two fingers gesturing come-hither inside of her was a brilliant idea.

She isn’t quick, and he wonders if that’s been part of the problem in the past—impatience on her lover’s part. And he imagines she gets in her head about it, so he hums and growls against her, making sure she knows he’s not in any kind of hurry; he’s having the time of his life down here.

When her walls start contracting around his finger, he knows she’s past the point of no return, and he keeps up a steady rhythm until she’s crying out, her entire body shuddering, waves of ecstacy washing over her. She swears like a sailor; says his name in a tone of voice he wants to hear every day for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t move away until he begs the word “enough”. He places one more kiss on her center, and then pushes himself up, neck and back stiff, mouth sore, face drenched, and ego satiated for what will likely be a milenia minimum.

Carol is wrecked. She’s breathing hard, her entire body slack, as she looks at him like he’s some kind of sorcerer. An occasional shudder rattles through her.

“I fucking love you,” she says. Daryl ducks his head, blushing.

“‘Cause I got you off?” he asks, trying to say it in jest, but part of him is worried that’s all she meant. But when he glances back up she’s shaking her head.

“No. But it helps.” She reaches for him, and he goes to her, kissing her soundly. Against his lips she says softly, “I do, though. Love you.” 

Daryl’s heart skips a beat.

“Love you, too,” he whispers. He captures her mouth again, and this time she takes over, biting his lower lip and tugging it gently as she undoes the buckle on his belt. 

He gets the idea and fumbles with the fly of his jeans, shucking them off and kicking them to the side. She helps him push his boxers down, too, and somewhere along the way she lost her nightgown entirely, and now they’re both nude, nothing but bare skin on bare skin. She loops her arms around his neck, and wraps her legs around his hips, pushing him forward.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” she says, and that’s all the permission he needs to guide himself to her entrance and push himself inside.

“Christ, Carol,” he mutters. “I ain’t gonna—”

“I don’t care,” she says, cutting him off. “I just need to feel you. Please.”

It’s not like he needs a lot of convincing. He steals another kiss, and begins to rock his hips, the grip around him warm, wet, and unyielding, and he’s imagined this more times than he can count, but no fantasy could ever do justice to the real thing. He watches her face, the two of them maintaining eye contact as he thrusts deep inside her. Her lips are parted and she’s panting in time to the rhythm he’s set, and he is so,  _ so _ in love.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, slipping his arms underneath her shoulders and enveloping her in an embrace. He tucks his head in the crook of her neck and sucks on the skin he finds there, not hard enough to leave a mark, but almost. 

His orgasm builds sooner than he wants it to, but there’s no way he can stop it. There’s not a damn thing he can think about that’s stronger than the feel of her after so many years of wanting.

His rhythm becomes disjointed, and Carol whispers encouragements in his ear, and he cums with a gasp, the sensation strong enough to momentarily rid him of any sense that isn’t being allocated to the most intense orgasm of his entire, goddamn life. 

He kisses her on the come down, trembling in her arms.

They stay still for what seems like an age, neither of them ready to give up the intimacy of this kind of touch, but eventually he has no choice but to pull out of her, and she lowers her legs from his hips. Reluctantly, Daryl rolls over onto his back beside her, and stares blankly at the ceiling in awe.

“We just had sex,” he says incredulously.

“I know. I was there,” Carol says. Daryl turns his head to look at her, and she’s smiling in a way she hasn’t seen in a long time. Maybe not ever.

“How you feelin’ about it?” he asks her. With the blood returning to his brain, the gravity of the situation becomes clear. A week ago, Carol was losing her mind with revenge and he thought he’d never get her back, two days ago, he pulled a confession on a deathbed that he ended up not dying on, and now, with barely any words exchanged between them, he’s lying naked in her bed with a softening cock, his cum buried inside her, as they both catch their breath. 

That’s a lot. 

Like, a  _ lot _ .

And God, he hopes she won’t regret it.

Carol looks thoughtful, like she’s choosing her words carefully. 

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” she says finally. 

“That what could?” Daryl asks.

“Sex. I didn’t know sex could be” —Daryl holds his breath—“ _ good _ .”

Daryl lets out a small, relieved laugh. He says, “That wasn’t nothin’ special. I mean,  _ I _ had a helluva time, but I coulda, you know. Done more. I told you, I’m real outta practice, and even back before I wasn’t nothin’ to write home about.” 

“Well,” Carol says, putting a hand on his chest and grinning wickedly. “If that’s you out of practice, I’d say let’s get you some more experience and see what else you can do.” 

Daryl blushes—an awkward, insecure fifteen year old at heart—and ducks his head shyly.

“I’d be alright with that,” he says.

*

Life is always different in that liminal space after war, but this kind of different is unprecedented. 

Daryl has never been in a serious relationship before.

He's never been in love and known he was loved in return.

And he certainly has never been this unbelievably horny at every minute of every goddamn day. Not even during puberty when he was popping stiffies at diagrams in health class. This is a whole new level of turned on, and it's all because of her.

He spent years pining over her, thinking about what life could be like if they could be together, and yeah, he's jacked off at the thought of her—it was always out of love—but he never considered just how insatiable the two of them would be when they finally got together with a decade of unresolved sexual tension between them, and it's starting to make daily life pretty interesting.

Take this morning, for example. 

Daryl wakes up alone on his couch-turned-bed in the basement, daylight filtering in, telling him he slept well into the morning, when usually he’s up with the sun.

Blinking blearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he notices a gift left beside his head on his pillow. A slow grin spreads over his face when he plucks up the pair of pink panties Carol left behind. He rubs the soft cotton in between his fingers, conjuring up memories of the night before, when Carol had come downstairs and let Daryl unwrap her like a Christmas gift. She’d taught him where and how to touch her with his hand, and then straddled his lap and rode him until he was bone dry, the two of them collapsing in an exhausted heap in his tangle of sheets and blankets.

Vaguely, he remembers her whispering good morning and punctuating it with a kiss, but he must have gone right back under after being so thoroughly fucked hours before.

Thinking about her going back upstairs without her panties has Daryl’s morning wood growing harder, and he knows that if he doesn’t take care of it he’ll get one look at her and will need to bend her over a table, which, frankly, he’s not opposed to, but surely the kids are up by now, and he has to be able to at least pretend to have his shit together. 

Balling Carol’s panties up in one hand, he lets the other slip beneath the blanket where he’s already naked. He uses his own precum to lubricate his cock, and then pumps himself, long and slow, summoning the image of Carol’s exposed throat when she throws her head back, and he hears the phantom sound of the way she gasps when he bottoms out inside her.

  
  


He strokes himself faster, imagining his hand is her enveloping him tight around his cock, welcoming him in and getting wetter with every thrust of his hips. Unconsciously, he brings her panties to his face and breathes in her scent, and it's the most powerful aphrodisiac, sending him cascading over the edge. The two syllables of her name grace his lips, grateful and pleading concurrently, as he spills over his hand. Taking a moment to shutter through the aftershocks, he's only partially satiated, his orgasm releasing him of some of his tension, but he misses her touch, and even as he grows soft, he longs for her.

She's got him twisted, hooked on her like heroin, and he can't ever get enough.

Daryl gets himself cleaned up and dressed, splashing cool water on his face in the bathroom, trying to regain control over himself. In his room he has a twenty second debate with himself before snatching Carol’s panties back up from the couch, and shoving them into his pocket to keep on him—his dirty little secret for the rest of the day.

As composed as he ever gets nowadays, he goes upstairs and into the kitchen, where Carol already is, cutting up a melon into slices. She’s wearing that nightgown she wore on their first night together, and Daryl has a pavlovian response to it so strong it’s like everything he did to try and alleviate his ravenousness was entirely in vain. 

He comes up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist, startling her. She jumps at first, and then lets out a soft laugh when he presses a kiss at the base of her neck.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a woman holding a knife?” she asks, lightly tapping his hand with the side of the blade.

“Hm, worth it,” Daryl hums, tightening his grip on her. “Where are the kids?”

“Aaron invited them over to play with Gracie. We’ve got the house to ourselves for the day.”

Music to Daryl’s ears. He presses his hips against her backside to let her feel his burgeoning erection, and asks, “Yeah? How do you wanna take advantage of it?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Carol says, a smile in her voice. “I’m sure there are plenty of chores we could do. I’ve been meaning to go through RJ’s clothes and get rid of the ones he’s outgrown. And everyone’s bedding could use a washing.” 

“Chores, huh?” Daryl’s hands snake up her torso and brush over her breasts.

“Mhm, or there’s a book I’ve been trying to get through for weeks.”

“Can’t be that interestin’ if it’s been takin’ you weeks,” Daryl says, skimming his lips over her pulse point. Carol’s breath hitches as she tilts her head, giving him more room to explore. He presses kisses along her jawline.

“You haven’t had breakfast yet,” she says. “What do you want to eat?” 

In response, Daryl scoops her up in one fluid motion, making her gasp. He sets her on the kitchen island and steps in between her legs, taking her face in his hands and kissing her soundly.

“Guess,” he says against her mouth. He tugs her forward so she’s at the edge of the counter, and pulls open the belt of her nightgown. He smiles at her when he sees she has nothing on underneath. He reaches into his pocket and dangles her panties in front of her, saying, “You forgot these.” 

“Did I?” she asks innocently, but there’s a wicked glint in her eye. “Or did I just want to give you easy access?”

Daryl growls involuntarily, letting the panties fall to the floor, forgotten instantly when he nudges her knees and her legs open even wider. Without preamble, Daryl holds onto her thighs as he buries his face in her pussy. Carol hums contentedly, leaning back on her hands and hooking her ankles behind Daryl’s neck.

He hasn’t been having sex with Carol long, but he’s a quick enough study to already know exactly how she likes it. He sucks on her clit gently, tracing an arrhythmic pattern with the tip of his tongue, and she whimpers above him, lengthening her body and letting her head fall back, her neck exposed the way it was in Daryl’s fantasy. He can’t take his eyes off of her as he gets drunk on the taste of her. Fuck bacon and eggs—she’s his favorite meal.

In the freedom of the empty house, Carol cries out without inhibition when he brings her to her peak, an overwhelming pride washing over him as she cums, knowing he’s the only man who’s ever been able to get her there.

He kisses his way up her body, pushing her nightgown aside without taking it off. He takes a moment to swirl his tongue around each of her taut nipples, until standing upright and kissing her languidly, even as he aches for her so badly it hurts.

She slides off the island then, cupping his hard-on through his pants and smirking at the strangled noise that comes from the back of his throat. Reaching behind him, she grabs a piece of melon off the cutting board and takes a bite, looking him in the eyes as she chews, licking her kiss-swollen lips. She brings the other half of the slice to his mouth, and he huffs a laugh as he lets her feed it to him, the sweet juice bursting over his taste buds. 

It tastes good.

She tastes better.

She takes his hands then, and leads him over to the breakfast table, and he hadn’t actually meant it when he thought about bending her over a table, but that appears to be her intention when she faces away from him and has him cup her breasts from behind. 

Every day with Carol is like they’re doing all they can to make up for their lost time. It’s only been days, but he’s had her in more ways than he’s had anybody, and he never considered how fucking  _ boring _ his sex life from Before used to be until he got with her and discovered what it feels like to be with someone you want for more than a quick dick stroke; what it’s like to be with someone you love.

Even as he undoes the button on his fly, letting his jeans and boxers fall and pool at his ankles, and pushes her forward gently, it’s intimate and full of affection. He runs his index finger down her spine, feeling each vertebrae, and he leans down to kiss a scar on her lower back before sliding inside her.

Her perfect fit around him hasn’t lost any of the magic from the first time. He goes in as far as he can, and pauses a moment just to revel in the unbelievable closeness she’s granting him.

The sound of his hips thrusting and slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with their breathy moans. She arches her back steeper, changing the angle, and gasps as he finds her G-spot and drives himself into it over and over. Thanks to his time alone on his couch, Daryl’s able to hold off just long enough to get her trembling again, her muscles going ridgid with her second orgasm. He follows suit a moment later, muttering words of love and adoration through his release.

Mornings, he thinks, don’t get much better than this.

*

Something that doesn’t change is that, every now and then, walls become suffocating. It has nothing to do with anyone or anything. It’s simply that Daryl has always been called by the forest, and he can’t always ignore it.

Carol can sense the restlessness in him, and when she tells him she got Rosita and Gabriel to agree to watch the kids for the weekend so they can spend some time at his old camp, Daryl could kiss her. Does kiss her, in fact, because he’s allowed to do that now, and he takes advantage of it at every opportunity.

There’s a new guy guarding the gate today. He used to live at Hilltop, and Daryl recognizes his face, but couldn’t tell you his name if you had him at gunpoint.

“Going out for a while?” the man asks, bypassing Daryl to look at Carol sat behind him on the bike. Daryl thinks it’s a stupid question— _ obviously _ they’re going out if they’re asking to have the gate opened—but Carol smiles politely and nods.

“I’d tell you to be careful, but I doubt you need it,” the man says, still addressing only Carol. “Your reputation precedes you.” He smiles, all toothy and dazzling, and Daryl frowns.

“Reputation, huh?” says Carol.

“Mhm. One of the original founders of the communities. A top fighter out of everyone in all of Virginia. Not to mention, you certainly aren’t hard on the eyes, if I may say so.”

_ You may not, _ Daryl thinks.

Carol laughs.

“I think people have been embellishing,” she says.

“Oh, I doubt that,” says the man. His eyes rake over Carol’s body slowly, and Daryl’s had enough.

“You gonna open the gate ‘fore the sun goes down or what?” he grunts, and the man startles, as though he just now noticed Daryl exists.

“Of course,” he says in a rush. He fumbles with the lock, and barely has time to tell Carol, “Hope to see you again sometime,” before Daryl hits the accelerator, the rumble of the motor drowning the man out as they speed off.

It doesn’t take long to get to the camp, and the two of them waste no time getting the place back in working order, Daryl fixing the tent that’s been beat up by wind and rain since he last used it, and Carol gets a fire going.

It should feel good being back here, the familiar sounds and smells of the forest replenishing Daryl’s cooped up soul, but he can’t fully appreciate it, because he keeps seeing that big, attractive smile that man gave Carol. For the first time since they got together, Daryl realizes he’s not the only one who can see how strong and beautiful Carol is, and what if one of these days someone more handsome, more charming, more  _ confident _ smiles all pretty like that at Carol, and she comes to the conclusion that she can do better than him?

“Hey,” Carol says softly, coming up to face Daryl, looping her arms around his neck. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” Daryl lies, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead, but she doesn’t miss a trick.

“Somethin’,” she says. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

He knows he’s being silly, but even still, Daryl looks at her sweet expression, and gets a pang in the gut at the mere  _ thought _ of losing what took him so long to get.

He tries to smile nonchalantly, saying, “Just wishin’ we had more time out here together. You know, ‘fore we gotta go back home. But then, maybe your boyfriend will be there to let us back in.”

“My boyfriend?” Carol asks, furrowing her brow. Understanding washes over her a moment later, and she snorts. “Daryl. Don’t tell me you’re brooding because some random guy flirted with me.” 

“Don’t give a shit about him,” Daryl says, which is sort of true. Carol would never go for a guy who lusted after her because he thought everything she’d been through and done made her some type of legend. No, that guy is as much a threat as Aaron would be, but he makes Daryl think about all the other guys they might come across, especially now that they know about Commonwealth, and maybe one of them will be Carol’s type.

“Really?” Carol asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because I think you’re jealous.”

Daryl isn’t about to admit to that, but he knows she’ll see right through him if he lies, so he shrugs non-committedly and averts his eyes. Carol takes hold of his chin and makes him look at her again.

“You really think there’s anyone out there that I’d love more than I love you?” she asks, making Daryl’s heart skip a beat the way it always does when she uses that word.

“I hope not,” he says quietly. She strokes the side of his face.

She says, “I’m yours.” 

Daryl ducks his head and mumbles an “alright,” but she nudges his chin up again and repeats, “You aren’t hearing me. I’m  _ yours _ .”

“Okay,” Daryl says, a little more confidently.

“Say it,” she commands.

“Say what?”

“That I’m yours. I wanna hear you say it.”

Daryl drums his fingers on her hips, where he’s resting his hands, and wonders if those are actual words he’d be able to get his mouth to form. Carol looks at him expectantly. Daryl swallows hard.

“You’re mine,” he manages to mumble, blushing as he does. A sly grin blooms on her face. She leans up and whispers in his ear,

“Prove it.”

Daryl doesn’t know how she can get him so hard so instantly, but it’s not like dwelling on it does him any good. Fueled by arousal, and his mental faculties overridden by dick-brain, Daryl’s shyness turns into feral desire on a dime.

He grazes his lips over hers in an almost-kiss, and then takes her by the shoulders and walks her backwards a few steps to a nearby tree. He presses her against it, and her pupils blow wide when he lifts her hands above her head and pins them there with one hand holding both her wrists. She could move away from him easily if she wanted to—Daryl has no intention of making her feel truly trapped—but she only bites her lip and hums appreciatively when he starts sucking on her neck. He unbuttons her pants with his other hand, and works his way down them.

Maybe she can get him hard on command, but he must have the same effect on her, because she’s already wet when he slides two fingers between her labia. He dips inside the heat of her vagina, and her groan vibrates against his mouth where he’s leaving a sizable bruise on her skin. Hopefully it’ll fade before they go back home, but then, if it doesn't, would it be so bad for people to see physical proof that she’s taken? 

He sucks a little harder.

Next, he draws tantalizingly slow circles around her clit, but doesn’t quite touch it, and she whines. She tries to angle her hips forward to get him where she wants him, but he pushes her right back.

“Daryl,” she begs. Daryl cuts her off with a kiss, biting her lip, still teasing her with his fingers.

Finally, when it seems like she’s about to combust, Daryl finds her swollen, pulsing clit, and she cries out so loudly that if there are any walkers nearby they’re definitely headed their way now, but whatever, there are traps up, they’ll be fine, and this is so much more important. 

“You’re mine,” Daryl whispers against her mouth, finding the nerve to say it a second time, and it’s the right decision, because she cums instantly. Like,  _ instantly _ .

“Yours,” she whimpers as pleasure overtakes her. “Only yours.”

He pulls out of her and lets go of her arms, and she slumps, taking hold of his face and kissing him several times in rapid succession, and Daryl hardly gives her time to recover before he’s tugging her with him to the tent. She climbs inside, and he follows, ridding himself of his shirt as he goes, ready to stake his claim, any thought of losing her to some faceless man long gone.

She’s his.

*

Days turn to weeks turn to months, as time is wont to do, and the world around Daryl continues to settle itself inside this new normal.

Daryl learns how to parent, sometimes through mistepping, and comes to terms with how much more the community looks to him now that Michonne is gone. Change is the nature of that liminal space after war, and he can either resist it or embrace it, and he doesn’t see much point in picking fights with life after finally escaping battle.

Besides, every night, no matter what kind of mood he’s in, he finds reprieve with Carol, the two of them curling up together in each other’s arms, and every morning she kisses him (and sometimes does more than that) until he has the strength to face whatever the day has in store for him.

Time has no bearing on how insatiable she makes him, and he welcomes every opportunity to explore her body. Sometimes it’s like they’re a couple rebellious teens, like when he fingers her discreetly in the back of the room during a boring council presentation Gabriel gives. Other times, it’s like they’re every second as old as their traumatic lives have made them, and they fuck each other with desparation, trying to drown out the pain that waxes and wanes, but never quite goes away.

Through it all, he loves her like he’s never loved anyone, and it’s as terrifying as it is wonderful; as difficult as it is effortless. 

But here’s the thing: Focusing on learning how to love and be loved in return is the best way he’s ever spent this kind of uncertain space, and for once he’s certain he’ll come out on the other side of it, not damaged, but healed.

After all these years, he’s finally getting it right. They both are.

Together.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for the suspension of disbelief that melon isn't super fucking disgusting, and can be in any way erotic
> 
> laterz,  
> -diz


End file.
